She Runs
by Crests of Waves
Summary: James realizes on a particularly rainy afternoon that he was never really chasing the redhead that frequented his dreams, but she was always running.


Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor the title, inspired by Tim Halperin's song of the same name.

If it was for the chase, he'd have given up long ago. Nothing was fun to chase for five years, day in day out. He couldn't even chase a bloody snitch around a pitch for longer than five minutes. There was a reason he'd chosen to be a chaser. He smiled briefly at the irony of the name. No, he did not chase. He defended. He attacked. He scored. He got results. He never chased a beautiful golden snitch. He wished he had it in him. The patience. But alas he did not.

He lay back in wet grass, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Was this happiness? No. He had not achieved that which he had chased. For some reason, he did not care. It was pouring, and here he was under a beech tree, without a care in the world. What was the reason for this sudden lightness? A revelation? A realization? An epiphany? It was his eureka. He had asked the girl of dreams to Hogsmeade one last time six months ago. Six months, he pined quietly. He didn't bother her, didn't ask her out. He spoke to her civilly, only when necessary. He wasn't cold towards her; he wasn't overly helpful or friendly. He treated her like an acquaintance. After five years of tormenting, he'd backed off somewhat gradually.

Gritting his teeth, he'd asked her out the day before their last trip to Hogsmeade sixth year. She'd looked up, through her eyelashes, and shook her head. It had become a habit between them. He had no longer expected a yes. She no longer expected him to expect a yes. He had not even tried. He was living out a scene written for them, not because he wanted to but because it was expected of him. She was responding to him, not because she thought he needed an answer but because it was expected of her to respond, react angrily. The act had fallen away quietly some point during sixth year, when she'd realized he no longer meant it. When she'd realized, he no longer cared for the chase. When she knew, he'd given up. Giving up, for him, did not mean giving up his crush on her. It meant giving up trying. Giving up, for her, meant he never really cared.

And here he was now, on a brisk, rainy day, laying in the grass. He was finally realizing there was no point in caring if he wasn't going to stay in the chase. She would always run; he'd mimic a chase. Because chases weren't for him. He was a quiet lover. He was more timid, hesitant than she gave him credit for. He was more timid, hesitant than he acted. He wanted her, but he wanted her to want him out of choice. He would not force something, chase something that wouldn't be his. He wasn't the seeker. But then again, this wasn't quidditch.

But now, he realized what perhaps he'd always known. He wasn't cut out for the quiet chase. He wasn't cut out for the blatantly loud chase. He wasn't cut out for chases. There are some things that come to be too much. In reality, the first "no" out of her lips had been enough for him, but he stuck with it. Out of spite. Out of persistence. Out of habit. He'd gladly broken the habit last year. And now, he was coming to realize it was a ridiculous habit, anyway.

He made to get up quickly as the thunder grew louder. Wobbling a bit as the blood rushed to his head, he walked serenely towards the castle. He continued his self-possessed walk, unaware he was following behind the redhead currently in his thoughts. Hearing his footsteps, she had abruptly turned around. "What?"

"What?" He responded, startled to have someone there.

"You're the one following me."

He looked taken aback. He gave her a weird look, taking a deep breath before responding, "You're running, Evans, but I'm not chasing." He stood there a moment, perhaps many a moment, dripping on the floor. His hair slicked back (with his hand, no doubt), his glasses miraculously clear and his bright white shirt sticking to his chest, he stared. No. He stood.

Lily, for her part, stared. Blatantly. Openly. She did not seem as surprised by his sudden statement as she should have been. "I'm not running." What she had expected in response, she did not get.

"Good," he smiled her way. A smile she had not seen directed towards her. It was a genuine smile, not a loud boisterous laugh or suggestive smirk. "I'm glad we're on the same page." He turned to walk away, but found he could not. A small hand had latched onto his wrist.

"Wait. James, I said I'm not running. I – forget it. I just - Will you go to Hogsmeade with me? This weekend?"

The dripping boy in front of her, smiled again. "Lily, I – I enjoy working with you. You're a great co-head, and I don't want to ruin that with a relationship." He was not chasing.

Lily did not look down-trodden. She smiled at him and bit her lip. He knew that was a sign of internal turmoil. He brought his hand down to her hand, still on his wrist, as a sign of comfort before pulling his hand out of hers. He was not mad, offended, hurt, whatever. Because he wasn't chasing.

"Five years, you asked me out once a month. Five – "

"Four years. The fifth was a joke."

"Did you ever mean it?"

"I meant it the first time, but I was only 12. I didn't know better. I meant it the last time. I knew better that time than to ask and expect something. Every other time in between? I had been rejected that first time. I knew not to expect a yes, but after that it had become a game of arguments, comebacks and witty responses I enjoyed too much to give up. I never expected a yes. I'm not built for a chase, Ev – Lily. I gave up then. I can't chase someone that keeps running."

"You're wrong." When James didn't say anything in response, she continued, "You're wrong. James Potter doesn't give up. James Potter doesn't have epiphanies under beech trees in the rain. James Potter – "

"How do you know? How do you know I had an epiphany…under the beech tree?"

"I have eyes, and Hogwarts has windows," she laughed. "James, I saw you staring at me in Transfiguration today. I've felt that stare since I've met you. I know you didn't have an epiphany in the bloody rain, Potter. You were outside getting hypothermic. Your brain can't think straight. And, you don't chase? Don't give me that hogwash!" Her voice was rising now, "You don't chase, my arse! Every time you asked me out, I looked you in the eyes as I turned you down. I watched you flinch, even when you laughed or turned my hair bloody bubblegum pink. You were chasing. Only problem was, you were never quite good at it. I was never really running. You just never learned how to chase." She grew quiet for a few seconds, looking James up and down. He simply stared back, face unreadable. "I'm not a snitch, and you're not a seeker. But, you chased me as if I were a snitch."

"I wasn't chasing. I was playing the part, Evans. You and I both know – " He'd been cut off quite pleasantly by Lily Evans' lips on his. She kissed him hard, the way she'd expect him to crack eventually. Moving her hands into his hair, pulling him closer, she felt the reaction she'd been hoping for, his hands at her waist and a gentle push toward the wall. With her back against the wall, her toes on their tips and James' neck on the verge of being bent to far, he finally pulled away. "You and I, " he continued catching his breath as if nothing had happened, "weren't playing cat and mouse because I wasn't chasing. I was waiting while you kept running."

"And, hit a wall?" She smiled brightly, finally understanding what he'd meant.

He shook his head. "And you slowly - very, very, very slowly ran out of breath." Lily laughed, the kind of boyishly loud laugh he'd always loved to hear, as he stared at her looking perfectly content.

"Oh, and, I was not suffering from hypothermia. And, no, you're not a snitch. Just a bloody bludger," he said massaging his neck. The James humor was coming back now, the philosophical insanity leaving. Lily pushed him back lightly in response. "See? Bludger." And, he leaned in to kiss her again.

A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! I haven't kept up on my other stories at all. I had a few chapters already written for both, but I couldn't bring myself to continue something that, at this point, I don't think I can finish. After my previous issues, I somehow ended up in med school with absolutely no time for anything like this. I've had this one on my computer from one of my study breaks, and I'm not really proud of it, but what the hell, right? I thought I'd go ahead and post it.


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